Alone, he wouldn’t think to bake a Camembert for lunch
Nor serve it with some olives, to be fair
His normal repertoire consists of tins, and cheese, and egg
Accompanied by anything that’s there

His staples would be bread, defrosted singly, slice by slice
And thinly spread with low fat margarine
While she’d have lavished butter on a crusty warm baguette
And spoiled him with some roasted aubergine

He hadn’t any time now for those fancy latte drinks
All foamy, hot, and flavouring the air
His decaf served him nicely, though he can’t recall the taste
But mealtimes were no longer an affair

He pinched his narrow waistline with a grimace and a grin
Deciding he was healthier inside
But every now and then his gaze was wistful, sometimes grim
As taste buds sought the pleasures she’d supplied

Oh Dan Brown
What did you do?
Did you have a clue
What a to-do
You would cause
With your story
Of Robert Langdon
And his quest.
Oh, yes, lots of enigmas
And conundrums
And a secret brotherhood
Or two;
Hidden lineages
Tracing all the way back
To Him?
Which upset a few people
I can tell you
But, you probably know that.
Oh, Dan Brown
Wasn’t Angels and Demons
A better book?
IMO
And that of others.
And did the films not reach the heights
That the books did.
Oh! Didn’t you know.
Dan Brown,
I read The DaVinci Code
With eagerness
At the time;
And, can I just tell you this?
I read it non-stop from start to…
When I dropped my copy in the bath!
Laugh?
Yup.
I tried drying the book out
But, to no avail. So, the bookshop had another…

It could be construed
As a little bit rude
Not that I’m a prude
But, I here allude
To the comments just viewed
That ‘Simon Cornwell a postie-type mush…
Is spending the morning trimming Juliette Cornwell’s unruly, scruffy bush!’